"It's a new poet. Hurrah for the poet lariat!" shouted Ned Rector, jumping up and down, slapping his thighs in his amusement.
"Go on, give us another verse," laughed the guide. "That's real po'try that is."
"Is there another verse?" cried Walter.
Chunky nodded solemnly.
"Hush! He is going to sing some more," cautioned Tad Butler, holding up his hand for silence.
"Ahem," began Stacy. Throwing back his head he began again:
When the wind blows high o'er the Desert Maze,
And sand in your eyes interferes with your gaze,
Then the Pony Rider Boys they lose their pants;
Don't dare sit down for fear of the ants—
That hide in the alka-li.
Stacy sat down blinking, solemn as an owl. But if he was solemn his companions were quite the opposite. The boys formed a ring about him, and between their yells of appreciation, began dancing around in a circle shouting out in chorus the last two lines of the second verse:
Don't dare sit down for fear of the ants—
That hide in the alka-li.
Professor Zepplin and Tom Parry were laughing immoderately, but their voices could not be heard above the uproar made by the joyous Pony Riders. No such carnival of fun probably ever had disturbed the foothills of the San Antonio range, nor extended so far out over the maze of the great Nevada Desert.